


Finsta Fuckup!

by Fictionalsideblog



Series: InstaGoals [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Coming Out Fic, Grey Sweat Pants Mention for 6, I do not claim this really, I mean this is just pure fluff, M/M, They're cute - Luca G, coming out fic, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26799595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionalsideblog/pseuds/Fictionalsideblog
Summary: Ever wonder what would happen if you accidentally posted something meant to be from one of your many Finsta accounts, but on your very real, very public account with your very real, very well known name? To another very well known, public person? Well...
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: InstaGoals [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001334
Comments: 18
Kudos: 128





	Finsta Fuckup!

**Author's Note:**

> Ever wonder what would happen if you accidentally posted something meant to be from one of your many Finsta accounts, but on your very real, very public account with your very real, very well known name? To another very well known, public person? Well... We've all wondered haven't we? ;)

**Finsta Fuck Up.**

It felt like some kind of out of body experience if he was being honest. 

He just sat there, staring at his phone - the screen flashing light against his face in the dark room, as the app got more and more and more notifications. His breathing was shallow, but his heart was beating in his ears. His palms sweaty, his nerves on edge - though he looked completely calm.

In short, he fucked up. He fucked up _badly_.

He was usually so careful, too careful, careful to the point of ridiculousness. He personally had at least four personas he adopted, and those names and profile photos changed often. It was after all, part of their game. 

Comment on their post, in the most over the top mushy, slash ridiculously horny way possible, and the other had to guess the poster. And who guessed _right_ in the allotted time won a prize.

What were the prizes?

What were the prizes in any long term - long distance ‘It’s complicated’ relationship? The usual... videos, photos, gifts, all of a sensual nature, promises made, promises kept … involving some form of sexual or emotional satisfaction. It ranged anywhere from standard dick pics, jerking videos, or dirty talk voice memos, to one of them reading the other’s favourite book passages… or more recently, poetry. 

It had started as a silly game of course, back before they were even anything as serious as they viewed themselves to be in the present, a game of _cap me the most insane comments and I’ll tell you what I think,_ turned into ‘ _I bet you can’t guess which one is mine!_ ’, both fiercely competitive, they then took it very _seriously_. A game, for laughs, a game much easier for Armie than for Timmy. Considering these days his guy racks up hundreds of thousands of fanishly adoring comments in mere minutes. 

But still they played along. He might get a heads up on the gender of his chosen finsta, or a magic word to search for, if only to save his time, and his eyesight. The once playful, innocent game turned into something else, as their playful not so innocent friendship, turned into something else too.

This night was no different. He hadn’t heard from Timmy all day, he knew why of course, he’d been busy prepping in pre-production - fittings mostly. And when Timmy had posted, finally, a behind the scenes shot of him looking majestically fuckable in one of his latest characters other worldly looking costumes, in an imposing set filled with worldly wonders… Armie decided to tell him just that, that he _did_ look divinely, majestically fuckable and the world was _lucky_ to be graced with his presence, and his ass _in_ them v fitted leather pants.

He never claimed the comments had to be as poetic as the words he read via voice memo, now did he?

But still he sat, and the minutes - maybe the seconds - seemed like hours. His internal freak out was not at all helped by the sheer amount of missed calls he had ignored from his PR handler, swiping away her calls, one after another, then more calls, this time from the other side of the circus, in the form of Tim’s PR. And still the number of likes on his comment rose.

His comment.

Because instead of an anonymous, random, face in the crowd of two million Likes and almost as many Comments… no. There it stood out and proud - very unlike him - attached to his name, and his real public account. 

With over two hundred thousand likes, six minutes in.

**F u c k.**

The calls kept coming, to the point where his anxiety was going to make him throw up. He had to talk to T. So he switched off his phone, and grabbed ‘their’ phone. It was old, and ran international, it was the obvious choice, and one he should have used to surf the fucking gram before stupidly hitting send.

He was reached with a network notice that the user had their phone switched off, which didn’t help but didn’t hurt either. If Tim was still working, maybe, maybe he didn’t know yet.

But then he had the right to know that his dumbass boyfriend basically outed them without his consent or knowledge.

**Fu-ck.**

He walked to the kitchen and poured himself a large drink, no ice. Downing it in one gulp he reveled in the burn down his throat and in his chest. A mantra of ‘fuck fuck fuck I fucked up, I fucked up,’ ran through his head. 

He downed another drink as his old phone lit up. A selfie of him and his guy filling the screen - they’d taken it a year before in some non de-script hotel room on a long list of non de-script hotel rooms they’d shared in secret over the years.

He took a deep breath before answering.

“Hey…” he whispered.

“He-y…” came the response at the other end, tentatively whispered back just as gently. 

“Timmy I fucked up I fucked up so badly and I’m so fucking -”

“Hey, hey stop okay - stop.”

Armie’s heart was thundering now, he was fairly certain he was going to drop dead with anxiety. The booze did nothing to stop the panic.

“But I -”

“We’ll handle this okay? We’ll … deal with it.” 

“Deal with it how -”

“Well, first of all you need to answer Evelyn’s calls okay, because her team mate is on my ass and both of them at once are just too much.”

“How bad is it?” He asked, he had to. Timmy let out a laugh, but it wasn’t genuine. He could tell that Tim too was scared. 

“Well… you broke the fuckin’ internet and my insta page keeps freezing when I check so… last count your comment had seven hundred and something thousand -”

“Fuckkkkk.”

At that Timmy did laugh.

“I’m so -”

“Don’t say sorry.”

“But -”

“Armie … I’m really tired -”

Oh no, this was it, he was going to leave him. He’d fucked up too big this time.

“Tim -”

“I’m really tired of all the lying, the sneaking around, the fake names, the fake lives… we do it for our jobs but it’s become off set too often now, and I don’t know about you but I’d love to just … be. Just for a second.”

He was silent. Unsure of what to say.

Timmy sighed.

“We could walk this back, say it was a prank if you want. We could laugh it up, and brush it off - I mean those watching us won’t buy it, but the general public might.”

What Armie then realised was he’d used that Finsta before, and a whole new set of dread settled in his stomach. The last comment on it was a simple ‘I love you’ followed by several emojis of choice. It was of course only a matter of time before that too was found.

**F u c k**

“You don’t want to do that though do you?” 

He heard the other man sigh, shift in whatever seating position he was in. He was torn on wanting to see his face currently. Armie had a feeling it might break him one way or another. The notion that he had caused this, completely upending their lives with one stupid click of a button was just so heavy it felt like it was crushing his chest.

He got silence on the line before his phone started to ring again, this time a Facetime request.

He hit the accept button on instinct, and his lover's face filled the screen. His whole body responded, his nerves calming instantly, he even managed a smile despite his nausea. Tim was on his bed, hair wild, grey hoodie up and over. Cheeks flushed, eyes red. Armie ached to touch him, to comfort him in some small way, that he knew selfishly would comfort him right back. 

“I don’t think I do… wanna walk it back, this time.”

This time, yeah, there had been _so_ many times in the past where they had hinted a little too heavily, flirted on a press line or at an award show in front of other people. Cameras too, by that point they’d become robotic camera detectors, but sometimes it was part of the game, to toe the line right to the edge, and dip over it a little to see, just the thrill of what it would be like to be out for real.

Well now, it seemed they were about to find out.

“No?”

His love smiled sadly, he looked as tired as Armie felt.

“How many times… how many nights did we lay together, and talk about this? Just fuck it all, fuck the teams, and the managers, and the agents, and the expectations… just fuck it all and speak. Shout it out loudly for everyone to hear, so loud they couldn't ignore us?”

“Post orgasm with several bottles of wine … not the most clear headed of conversations.”

“Or the most clear headed?” he smiled softly again, shifting back onto his pillows. “It’s been six years, Armie. Six years of ducking, and hiding, and lying … to others, to ourselves… I’m tired. Aren’t you?”

In truth he was. He was soul tired, the kind of tired you felt in your bones, and he had been for a long time. Despite his profession and his penchant for it, he hated lying. But he had done it so much, for the majority of his life, in all different ways - lying about himself, to himself, lying about his marriage, lying to the public, to directors, to co-workers… to Tim at the beginning - unwilling to admit his feelings until it overtook them both.

“But your career -”

He shrugged. “I can take a break if the reaction is bad, I mean I feel like I’m fucking due one anyway considering I have stopped in about as long as we’ve been together. You too, if they disagree with us, we can just disappear.”

“We’re good at that, when we need to.”

Tim laughed then, big and real and he ached again, to be near him. 

“I know I was due back in a few days, but since you’re free for a while … do you want to - I mean can you come here? And we can decide then where we go - literally - next?”

He could. He wasn’t due to see the kids for ten days, they were on yet another vacation with their mother.

He agreed. A relief once more running through him, when they were together he felt invincible. It should have been the big flashing neon sign though, go where you feel loved, where you feel the most you is what they say, and since they’d met, that was always with Timmy.

“So what do … you wanna do?”

A long weary sigh met Armie’s ears again, and yeah he understood why. What the fuck were they meant to do, really. 

“Well, the internet is losing its collective mind, I’m sure Evelyn and -”

“Yeaaah, I should answer their call.”

“You think?” Timmy smirked, then reaching over for his glass, filled with what was probably jack and coke. “I think we let it run, for now it’s got legs all its own… I mean look what happened that one time I just commented emojis…” he winked then, making Armie laugh at the memory. And the memory of the absolute rip job his PR and management had given him for both the antics, and for Tim’s comment, even though it surprised him just as much as it did the rest of the internet. Tim was right, he was tired of this, it had been going on for so long. Asking permission to live. 

He was done. 

He hadn’t meant to do what he did, but the more they talked things out that night, the more positive he was feeling, the stronger, the more determined. They could take this step out into the sun, for once. See what it felt like, and if shit hit the fan, then yeah, a nice get away was just what they botched needed. Armie had wrapped up two new projects that summer, he was due a break too. 

“...and if no one wants to hire us after this, I say we live out your dream of just packing our shit and moving to Italy, grow an orchard, make jam.”

“The jam was your idea.”

“It sounds so much fun though, think about it -”

Armie just rolled his eyes at their ridiculous nature. They had an Italian fantasy, right up there with a rural mountain one - until he points out Timmy’s idea of hiking includes wearing converse and holding an iced latte… there was also an island fantasy, but Timmy burns too easily for that to be more than a vacation. Timmy also hates Armie’s realism, forever poking holes in his fantasy lives they were _meant_ to lead. Even if he’d say it with a smile.

Now though, now was the turning point. They realised if they banded together, the same message not only to their teams that they both knew would try and get them to back down. But to anyone else that wanted to know too. 

No, now it was time. He just wished they were physically together. Not only to stand together as a team to support each other, but together it's always made it harder for their people to get them to give in. They couldn’t this time. This was it.

They agreed on what they’d say, and decided they’d hang up and make their people hop on Zoom and they could all hash it out at once. 

“Okay, give me ten minutes then call - I’m going to jump in the shower, all this panic sweat has me feeling gross.” Armie admitted sheepishly. 

“Okay… Love you.” Timmy smiled, now it was reaching his eyes, twinkling once more with mischief.

“Love you too. Be right back.” 

They both nodded and his face disappeared from the screen, before Armie padded his way into his bathroom, and started up the hot water. His phone still in hand, he had to laugh when a text from Timmy simply read ‘Main post Likes are at six million bb, we might have a chance.” 

******

“Personally I think this should be handled how we want, Eveyln.” Timmy interjected the almost yelling and god damn if Armie’s heart didn’t swell with pride. “I think that after everything, every hoop, every fucking set up that we both agreed to - from the delayed divorce, and everything before it and after … we fucking deserve a little consideration here.” 

Armie looked at the fucked up Brady’s Bunch in front of him, it consisted of their managers, and PR Reps, and Timmy’s mom, by Armie’s request - she knew everything of course, but he had felt a little non-commodity humanity was needed in the virtual room, and it might help the rest of them remember they were dealing with someone’s sons, actual humans. In the end the final string of support came from one of the most surprising. Brian.

“Well, my phone has been ringing off the hook, producers, directors, all curious, all wondering. Friends in the industry are all congratulatory, asking what took them so long.” the man shrugged. “The numbers keep growing, Tim’s socials have exploded, Armie’s too - you’ve gained a half a million followers in that last few hours, by the way.” he directed to Armie, who hadn’t dared open his app again. “And the likes on the comment … last I checked it wasn’t even showing a number because it was so high.”

“Over a million,” Timmy added, with a smile. “And counting.”

Both women, together in one office, sighed.

“What do you want us to say?”

Armie spoke up then. 

“Say ...what we discussed before...that we were friends for a long time, and with all the changes in the last few years, coming out of a pandemic that shaped all our lives for the better, and for the worst... I realised some things about myself. And one of those things was who I loved. And beyond that I’m sure you can fluff it up into whatever suits.” They had already discussed an IG coming out, of sorts. They wanted wordy, Armie did not. A picture told a thousand stories, as far as he was concerned.

Timmy laughed then making Armie smile big and real.

“Well, I for one have something to say about all this.” Armie froze at Nicole’s voice, even though he knew she loved him, and them, his instinct on a mother’s reaction to a queer son, well, it was instinctively to cringe at any response. 

“I’m thrilled. Honestly. Mistake or not, it’s about damn time. I don’t think I could stomach another ‘girlfriend’.”

“ _Mom…_ ” Timmy dragged out, embarrassed.

“Oh shush, neither could you, be honest.” 

Brian smiled, which might have been the most shocking thing Armie witnessed. The two PR women were looking at each other, their mics muted discussing no doubt the hamfisted way to continue with this.

It was already after eleven, but he got on a flight late slash early flight, much to Timmy’s surprise if his face was anything to go by.

“And I’ll be flying to London on the red eye. I’ll arrive tomorrow afternoon -” he checked his phone - “The flight will land at one pm UK time, and if you want to accidentally tip off that time slot and my gate exit … well who am I to stop you at this point.”

“Everyone knows Timmy is in London, he’s been taking fan photos all week.” Spoke the other Nicole, their mic now back on.

“MMmhn, that’s the point.” Armie sassed, taking a slower sip of his drink this time, he was calmer now. Armie had been feeling braver during the call and looked at the texts on his phone. From his inner circle it ranged from eye rolls and laughing emojis to congrats on being a dumbass, to ‘about time!’, to a biting but passable ‘I’m told congratulations are in order...’ from the mother of his children. He’d had his contacts at big magazines texting too, vying for the story. Nothing from his mother, a heart and a rainbow from his stepmother, that was okay for now. He had everyone else's opinions to worry about before he boiled it down to maternal anger. Because she, like his reps were willing to look the other way, as long as it didn’t get out and ‘embarrass the family more than he had already done’, when historically speaking he realised as he grew up into an adult that his apparent shame free family name was basically the opposite. And so he was really so far past that particular guilt trip. Now, he was his own man, with his own life, his own reputation - one that took hit after hit in the previous years, as he allowed himself to be painted as The Asshole people around him needed him to be, to save the fantasies they'd all built on the foundation of his dumbass twenties. 

He never wanted those same regrets for Timmy, and so he played along for everyone else's sake, selfishly including his own, as playing it straight might have looked ridiculous after a time, but to studios and producers still stuck in the stone age, it worked, and the work - for both - kept rolling in. Every year, once or twice every few months he’d roll out a romance, or kick start some rumours, play the short game, in and out and then go underground with T, for as long as work allowed. And it had worked fine, it had taken a hit on their souls no doubt, made them world weary, and fiercely proactive over what they had, since it too took hits left and right from all in their lives at one time or another.

But now, it and they were out.

No one in their teams had said anything by the time he had got on the plane to London. No statements, no social media, their friends had alluded to being thrilled, but again, nothing directly from the men themselves. That would come when they were together, and could decide how it went down. The internet, the media, the magazines, they were all churning out pages of content on what it meant, was it for real, was it a prank? For the most part ‘your comment hit the million like mark like ten minutes ago, dude’, the general consensus was overwhelmingly positive, which, in itself gave that sense of security and confidence - if the public were happy, then studios couldn’t fully burn them down. At least, for the time being, he held on to that. Not so much for himself, he had fallen into a comfortable niche in the indie world - though it garnered him an Emmy for TV work, and a Golden Globe the year after, Timmy was different. He was Mr Movie Star, and had been for the previous few years, garnering another Oscar nod, and so many other wins he had run out of room in their LA home. Armie joked they’d have to upgrade just to fit the rest!

He’d Facetime’d his children, his best friends and his Father and Stepmother all whilst packing his bags for his flight. All that squared away, reassuring all that he was fine, they were fine, all was going to be fine, he felt at ease as he texted a hopefully sleeping boyfriend that he was on his way. He popped some ambien and after the meal, managed a solid five hours sleep - a record for him, all things considered. But, waking up on planes, feeling disgusting, and attempting to be a human all felt difficult until they landed, when he put on his brave face and Timmy’s old baseball cap he’d dug out of their closet on purpose, and made his way through the too bright airport. Where sure enough, the paparazzi were waiting. All of them asking questions - questions merely days ago would have sent him into a tailspin, but now he just smiled, shrugged coyly and got into his waiting taxi.

He’d called in a coffee and lunch order from one of their favourite cafes near where they stayed when in London, ‘their’ apartment in a cosy corner of an old cobbled street, the views from the roof terrace at night were what sold Armie, and the old, utterly massive, nineteenth century clawfoot tub was what sold Tim. He smiled at the memory of the lease signing. One of the first ‘official’ things they did as a couple after his divorce. Getting into the apartment, he expected to hear the sound of music blaring like always, or the TV with news on in the background, Timmy on a call as he paced by the large bay windows looking down onto the tree filled street. But not this time. The curtains were still closed, it was almost two thirty, a stretch even for his night owl boyfriend, the rooms were silent. He dropped his bags, the iced-coffees and the food in the kitchen, kicked off his shoes and made his way up the stairs, the darkened bedroom with little ribbons of golden light greeting him, the lumpy figure of his love curled up on their big bed, wrapped in one of his old gym tees, and at least three blankets is what he found. 

He couldn’t help the automatic response of a smile even if he’d wanted to. He threw the baseball cap on his side of the bed as a soft snore - one that Tim would vehemently deny he _ever_ produced - escaped his guy- his toes peeking out from under the mountains of quilts. Armie stripped off his sweater, and slid out of his sweatpants, toed off his socks, and began the wakeup call. He began softly tickling the toes exposed, and when they rapidly went inside the quilt, sleeping Timmy was still Arachnophobic Timmy, but beyond that then, Armie just had no patience to drag this out. So slowly, he crawled over the sleeping man, still tucked up inside his layers, and laid over him, his lips finding an inch of exposed neck, to kiss. The solid weight of him instantly roused Timmy, with a groan and then a laugh, all subdued with the almost two hundred pound man on top of him, unyielding. Armie kissed again, and again, until Timmy fully awoke, laughing.

“Mornin’ to you too… Jesus, you’re heavy.”

“No, it’s the ninety pounds of blankets, I’m a feather _truly_.”

Timmy was sleepy eyed and his voice hoarse all things that went straight to Armie’s dick.

Wriggling around happened until some blankets were off and he was on his side of the bed next to Tim, seeing him fully for the first time - he was indeed dressed in one of his old faded salmon tees, and a pair of his too-big-for-his-guy grey sweats too, all slide down on his narrow hips, the outline of his dick visible just below the strings … team it all with soft smells of a nighttime shower, fluffy hair, and grabby hands and Armie was hard as fuck, and it was getting harder to concentrate on what needed to be said before they fell too deep into the well of each other. 

He moved in for a kiss before pulling back, Timmy ruffling his hair, looked to the side and smiled.

“You seriously dug out the County Mart hat? Really?”

He grinned. “What? I wanted a piece of us with me, and -”

“And you _know_ what people think of that -”

“Yeah, well … we don’t have to be subtle anymore…”

“We were subtle?” his guy asked, pretend thinking expression in full effect. It merely earned him another kiss. Before his hand slipped to the bulge in his old sweatpants, causing Tim to just gasp.

“We have to talk…” 

The bow tied in the laces that attempted to hold up pants on his body that were at least two sizes two big… was adorable and hot all at once.

“ _Mmmm…_ ” Armie’s lips met his neck again, knowing they didn, but also knowing what he’d rather be doing “Do we have to run away?” he whispered into his neck, that earned a laugh.

“No, I mean … it’s all very overwhelming… but so far? Beyond a few trolls and a lot of confused straight teenage girls… seems … obvious to most people since we really weren’t that subtle babe… but also… positive … all the outlets are shook - or pretending to be - and our numbers have been rapidly rising since it happened.”

“You sound like Nicole…” he pulled back, weary. “Do we care about numbers, that is probably a curiosity bump…?”

“True, but still… it could have been a disaster.”

It probably would have been had this happened a few years before. But not now, now they’d taken too many steps to ensure that any and all ties to the truth were as buried as they were ever gonna be. All they had to do now was get a story straight - pun intended - as to when this meticulous change occurred. It couldn’t have been when it really happened, though he was sure that would come up. But that’s where the interview thing came in, just one thing on the long list of things they’d probably have to do now. 

But first things first.

“I have to address it. Or you … or both I don’t much care which of us does it. But ...apparently we need to say something.”

“I wanna post one of our favourite photos together and just … let it say it all.”

Armie wriggled his brows, moving in to finger the waistband on the grey sweats again, 

“I could think of a _few_ photos we could post -” his tone as filthy as his mind was racing. 

Timmy just laughed, as Armie’s fingers slowly unraveled the little bow holding his pants up on the other man’s hips.

“I think we could blow ...their minds.”

Timmy smirked again, this time reaching for Armie’s face and pulling him into a kiss.

“Let’s do this right and then you can blow _whatever_ you want, sound good?”

Armie rolled his eyes, bad puns or not the promise was enough. He sighed and moved to get his phone in his disregarded pants pocket. Hopping back into bed again, this time Timmy covered them both with the many quilts.

He opened the app.

“Jesus fuck, nope.” he had glanced at the numbers. Throwing the phone on the bed. A giddy boyfriend merely retrieved.

“Be brave, it's not so bad. Honestly…” he side eyed but attempted it anyway. 

_Overwhelming was right._

“You’re saying it’s mostly _positive_.”

“From people with brains…”

“And those without?”

“We don’t claim those…” he smiled, “Anyway... I have a photo I like.”

“Of course you do.” 

Grabbing his own phone from under his pillow Timmy swiped away until he found what he was looking for. And Armie’s heart skipped a beat. 

It was a selfie Armie had taken before Tim’s last big Oscar outing, both of them were in tuxes, laying on the bed of the hotel they were getting ready in. Timmy was mid giggle, and Armie was just being dorky and wanted a picture of a cheek kiss to kick things off, for luck, he’d said. Timmy had lost the Oscar again, but gained a meeting that led to his second biggest earner that night - so Timmy had been convinced it had worked, just now how they wanted it to. Which, in a way, seemed meta as hell as far as they both were concerned. Things _had_ worked, just not how either of them had expected them to, when they met.

He looked at Timmy then who was beaming, gleamy eyed with mischief. Before he got a ping on his messenger, the photo was sent to him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” he agreed. And it was as simple and as complicated as that. Both of them opened up the stupid fucking app of bad choices, but this time to make a good choice. Lined up the posts… 

A simple ‘ **Yeah**.” is that Armie came up with, much to Timmy’s chagrin, but he copied it too and simultaneously they posted. Comments on. Because it was a good thing. And … they wanted to break the internet again, just to make their teams earn their money. 

Armie made exploding noises just to mark the moment, before he took Tim’s phone, laid it on top of his own and moved in for a cuddle. Attempting to be the little spoon wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t impossible either. They laid like that for a long time. Just breathing and being in the moment. Outside of themselves, outside of their cosy four walls decorated to their modern but comfortable tastes … it was all changed. 

Getting used to that would be a hurdle in itself, but one even Armie, for all his cynicism and jadedness, knew they could face together. He even started thinking how nice it would be, instead of just talking about freely doing the simple things together like grocery shopping, or walking in public places together, the notion of attending events on purpose together? 

It was all a little mind boggling.

Eventually they shook themselves out of their over-thinking stupor, and cuddling evolved into lazy, languid, _fuckgling_ \- long slow open mouthed kisses down his guy’s warm body, shifting up his own t-shirt on the other man’s body, yanking down his grey sweats on his legs, bunching them around his ankles for easier access, so his mouth could travel further, with each suck and kiss and caress, moans and curse words flew around the room. They’d been apart this time only two weeks, they used to go months on virtual communications alone. He couldn’t imagine that anymore, and now it seemed neither would have to. 

  
  
  


Taking Timmy in his mouth he ignored the stirring ache of his own body, or the delicious pain of Timmy’s fingernails scraping through his hair roughly as he sucked and licked and caressed his guy to the edge of pleasure and back again, ignored the caveman instinct in him that just wanted to take, take, take it all in front of him right then and there, the old hushed urges he held on to from his teenhood - the fooling around with boys but letting the shame others attached to that sink him further and further into whatever metaphorical closet he had lived in half his life. No longer though, and that thought teamed with the toe curling thigh shaking reaction of what his body could do - after all this time - to the man he loved - gave him a more intense high than any substance he’d been brave enough and stupid enough to try. Timmy wasn’t so patient though, coming loudly - always - refusing to dampen his pleasure - every hotel they’d ever stayed in had the echo of Chalamet’s pleasure forever etched in their atmosphere. It had taken Armie longer to drown that shame, and be just as _vocal_. Still there were times when he’d have to be encouraged, it didn’t take much lately, but still… it laid within him. The shame.

But again, no longer.

It and he was out in the open for all to see, and with the guy he had chosen, who had repeatedly chosen him even after he was sure he had fucked up one too many times, waited too long, he chose him over and over - he knew it would be okay. 

Everything was going to be more than okay, everything was going to be amazing. He dared anyone to try and tell them otherwise.


End file.
